


For Better or Worse

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: While recovering at Hilltop, Daryl learns something interesting about Jesus, and after a terrifying accident the two men realize they are similar in more ways than one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my fave Rickyl fic of all time, [Blue Eyes and Possession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364718). A shout-out to [Fade Into Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4324953/chapters/9806727) is also necessary. Any similarities are the result of great idolization of the works. 
> 
> This idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. I wrote it on a whim. It confirmed my assumption that I am reliant on dialogue, but maybe it doesn't read as clunky as it felt to write. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.
> 
> Daryl: https://wcmu.org/news/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/485198177.jpg
> 
> Jesus: http://data.whicdn.com/images/34739357/original.jpg

Daryl heard a snap against the window and immediately knew what it was and what it was not. The window creaked open, peeling paint catching against itself, old glass rattling in its pane.

“There’s a door,” Daryl grunted as the shadowed figure slipped into the room.

“But what kind of entrance would that be?”

Daryl’s hair stood on end as the man approached. His nails dug holes into the bed sheets which ripped into vertical gashes as he sat up to lean away. “Try anything and I’ll kick your ass,” he vowed.

“Don’t I know it. Down, boy.”

Jesus scraped a chair to Daryl’s side and sat down, chest pressed against the back. He cocked his head, gaze boring into Daryl’s.

“So,” he said.

Daryl’s glare did not dissipate. “So.”

“I’ll admit I’m at a loss here,” Jesus said, drumming his fingers against the chair.

“Nobody knows?” Daryl asked.

Jesus’s expression hardened. “No. How about you?”

Daryl shrugged. “Let the dog outta the bag a long time ago.”

Jesus seriousness broke once he chuckled. “That’s hilarious.”

“Wasn’t at the time.”

“Oh, shit.” Jesus glanced away. “Sorry.”

Daryl noted the way Jesus’s facade switched between overt confidence and sudden abashment. “What’re you trying to pull?”

Jesus lifted his hands. “Nothing.”

“Cut the shit, man.” Daryl leaned straightened and leaned forward, ignoring the pains shooting up his body. “Don’t waste my time.”

“We got off on the wrong foot.”

Daryl crossed his arms. “So you’ve said.”

“We never had a chance to talk,” Jesus continued, “and then, you know...” He scratched his beard. “But you’re here now. If you ever want some fresh air, let me know. I’ll go with you.”

“You think I need a babysitter?”

“Cut the shit,” Jesus said, stealing his own words. “I think you’re a wanted man. Hell, so am I. Maggie’s _dead_ as far as most are concerned. This isn’t the time to sneak off alone.” He smiled. “There’ll be a full moon tomorrow night. You can tell, right?”

Daryl leaned back against his pillows. “That itch you can’t scratch.”

Jesus’s eyes brightened. “Yeah. Exactly.” He paused. “I’ve never met someone else.”

“Ran in the family,” Daryl said.

“I was bit.” Jesus stood. “Anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Tell me then.” He stuck a foot through the window. “Night,” he called, then slipped away entirely.

Daryl stared after him. He forgot to shut the window, and a breeze wafted into the room, washing away his sent. Daryl fell into a fitful sleep, unable to let go of its trace in the air.

* * *

 

He awoke the next morning restless and irritable, mustering enough patience to sit through Carson checking his vitals, but not enough to stay bedridden for another second. After the doc left Daryl fumbled his way through the house and found an empty room with a secluded balcony where he could rest unbothered.

The old wood of the railing was warm against his forearms, and the late morning breeze carried an autumnal smell of shifting seasons. Daryl could feel his body winding back to full attention, his nails and teeth lengthening on their own accord at all the stimuli and regained awareness.

“Figured I’d find you hiding somewhere.”

Daryl turned, shocked that he hadn’t heard Maggie’s approach. “Hey.”

She smiled softly and leaned next to him. “Hey.”

He looked out at Hilltop, unable to meet her eyes despite the long talk they’d had when he first arrived, tears shed and shared between them.

“Daryl,” she whispered, and touched his unruly hair. “You’re halfway to turning. Did Jesus talk to you?” She lowered her hand. “He said he would.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t say anything, but I could tell.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “I knew the second I saw him.”

Maggie’s brow rose. “Am I gonna have to get shock collars?”

Daryl scoffed. “I can handle myself.”

“Uh-huh. Can you handle him?”

He turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her smirk disappeared into a grin. “Nothing.”

Daryl shook his head.

“Full moon tonight,” he said after a moment.

Maggie inspected his profile. “You need to go.”

“With him?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you’ll be friends.”

“Doubt it.”

“He’s nice,” Maggie said. Her fingers grazed the hand Daryl braced against the balcony. “Give him a chance.”

The floorboards whined under her soft steps as she left. 

* * *

 

Daryl tucked himself back into bed before the usual time Carson returned to check on him, and nobody was none the wiser.

Jesus entered a few minutes later, showered and changed. His hair was up in a messy knot, loose strands framing his face and curling over his shoulders.

“You went out,” he said, sitting back down in the same chair as last night, “I can smell it. You reek less like rubbing alcohol.”

“You stink more like shampoo,” Daryl countered.

“You’re the type who hates baths, huh?” Jesus asked.

“No more stupid jokes,” Daryl said. He flicked his eyes to a square of sunlight balanced on the wall. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit tonight.”

Jesus mimed a zipping motion across his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good,” Daryl huffed.

“Give no mind to what they say,” Jesus continued. “It doesn’t matter anyway...”

He laughed and dodged the pillow Daryl chucked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just love The Go-Go’s.”

Daryl scowled. “I’d love for you to go-go the fuck away.”

“Weak,” Jesus cajoled. He rose to leave, but paused to touch the browning flowers at Daryl’s bedside. A dry petal snapped underneath his hand and fell onto the end table. “Oops,” he said.

“Now you ruined my damn flowers.” Daryl turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up over his head. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry. I’m leaving now.” Daryl heard the door creak open. “I’ll be back after dinner.”

The door shut. Daryl continued stewing under the sheets. He only intended to remain for a few moments longer, but ended up dozing off. 

* * *

 

Daryl felt something prod his back. He grumbled and smacked it away, only for it to return seconds later. He yanked his blanket down and snapped, “What?”

Jesus looked down at the plate of food in his hands, then back up at Daryl. “You’ve been asleep this entire time.”

Daryl blinked. “What?” he asked again.

“Maggie stopped by, but left you alone.” The vase had been replenished with fresh flowers. Jesus set the food on the end table and sat down. “Eat up.”

Daryl scrubbed the sleep off his face, then took the plate into his lap. His mouth watered at the smell of fresh bread, baked beans, and cooked venison, and he realized how little he’d been eating, clearing the plate in a few short minutes.

Once he was finished, Jesus lead him out the back of the house, circumventing the supper masses by walking along the wall. The purpling evening was chilly and breezy, causing goosebumps to spawn up and down Daryl’s arms. He was tense and fidgety by the time Jesus signaled the guards to open the gate; entering the forest felt like a rush of cold water. He stripped without thought, balled up his clothes into a hollowed tree, and shifted.

“Whoa.” Jesus had only unbuttoned his coat.

Daryl shook out his white and gray pelt, then plodded to a nearby stream and lapped up a drink. After some rustling Jesus joined him, covered with two-toned brown fur.

Jesus nosed Daryl’s shoulder and began walking east, away from Hilltop. As Daryl followed he sensed the moonlight reaching him through the trees, erasing all of his aches and superficial wounds.

They broke out into a clearing furnished with boulders and fallen trees overgrown with moss, the far side sloping up into a steep bluff. Daryl shot across the expanse, muscles loosening as he sprinted. When he reached the bluff he saw Jesus had disappeared, and pinned his ears back in suspense, crouching low to the ground.

Jesus never emerged, and Daryl carefully sniffed the air for his scent. He smelled like sandalwood, shampoo, and something raw, unnameable.

Then, all of a sudden, a huge weight rammed into Daryl’s side. He hunched low to the ground, causing whatever attacked him to tumble over his back and smack against one of the lush tree trunks. Daryl leaped onto the offender and pinned it by the neck, getting a mouthful of brown fur.

Jesus twisted out from underneath him like a damn cat, full of feline grace despite his canine form. It put Daryl’s hackles on edge. He snarled in warning, lunged for Jesus again, and they tussled back and forth.

When Daryl’s bite pierced flesh Jesus bucked him off and scrambled up the wall of the bluff, as agile on four legs as he was on two. He gestured to the think copse of trees deeper into the forest, and Daryl climbed after him. Together they stalked through the thick brush, until halting at the sound of walkers.

Jesus made to retreat but Daryl sprinted toward the sound. A flock of fifteen or so walkers were stumbling aimlessly and turned at the noise of Daryl’s arrival. He tackled the outermost walker to the ground and tore a gash at its brain stem with his massive claws.

Skeletal hands pawed at his fur, but before he could react Jesus launched at the walker above him. Jesus’s entire body rippled once they landed, lurching sickly into an anthropomorphic form. He stood on his hind legs, muzzle beset by human eyes, fur growing into long hair, and snapped the walker’s neck with oversized, clawed hands.

A loud moan shocked Daryl back into action. He had more power fully wolfed-out, but Jesus was quicker in his half-form. As Daryl killed a walker below him and Jesus handled the second-to-last walker, the final walker fell atop Daryl, who had no room or time to move, and its mouth clamped down onto his flank.

He howled in pain and anger. Jesus suddenly appeared above him and tore off the walkers head, splattering gore and slime across his monstrous face.

Daryl panted and writhed on the ground, twisting in an attempt to inspect his bite. He began reverting back to his human form unconsciously and lay in the mud and leaves naked, cursing, and wild-eyed, hands clutching at his thigh.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, oh—”

Jesus dropped to his knees and pried the wound apart with his thumbs. Daryl screamed as blood flowed from the exposed tissue.

“Fucking cut it off, man,” Daryl demanded. “Get this offa me before it spreads you son of a bitch!”

Jesus ignored him and elbowed him flat onto his back, pressing one hand against his chest, holding his leg down with the other.

“The hell are you doing?” Daryl asked, thrashing against his restraints. “Did you fucking hear me?”

His eyes bulged and he fell silent as Jesus’s jaw locked around his wound. Jesus made a disgusting slurpring noise, lifted his head, and spit, then repeated the process again and again.

Daryl’s chest heaved for breath as he watched the other man—the other wolf—somehow drain him of infection. He saw Jesus’s eyes, human and bright green, bear into his own before he passed out. 

* * *

 

For a moment Daryl expected to awake at Hilltop’s infirmary. Instead, he was in a trailer, clouds of cigarette smoke piling underneath the ceiling. He turned his head, face pinched in confusion, and was graced with the sight of Jesus wet and half-naked, sitting cross-legged on the floor and smoking like a chimney.

“Hey,” he said.

Daryl blinked, then looked down at himself. He wore his t-shirt and boxers sans pants, bite wrapped in gauze colored by oozing blood. When he gently prodded the skin above the bandages all he registered was a dull pressure, and noticed his tongue felt glued to his mouth.

“I gave you a perc,” Jesus explained, and lifted a glass of water from a coffee table riddled with books. “Here.”

Daryl sat up and gulped down the water, then wiped his mouth and set the glass down on a random paperback.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I brought you here so Carson—or worse, Maggie—wouldn’t find out we left.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “I meant in the woods.”

“Oh. That.” Jesus took a long drag, then put out his cigarette in a crowded ash tray. “I just kinda...sucked it out. Like with a snake bite.”

“That doesn’t work,” Daryl said. “It’s a myth.”

“Excuse my comparison,” Jesus apologized.

Daryl was skeptical of Jesus’s blase treatment of the situation, but as he took further stock of his condition he realized he felt totally fine. There was no burning pain or clammy sweating, and his drowsiness was probably due to blood loss and the meds Jesus apparently stuffed down his throat. He shook out his injured leg, and a small shock traveled through his thigh.

“I gave you five stitches,” Jesus said. “Alex left a kit here, like, months ago.”

Daryl frowned. “The nurse?”

“We hooked up.” Jesus tossed his pack of cigarettes onto the coffee table. “Don’t make me waste the rest of those, asking questions about it. I was already stressed enough tonight.” He waved a hand. “Have one, if you want.”

Daryl had one. After a few calming drags, he asked, “Where’s my fucking pants?”

Jesus threw them across the room. “Right here. There was no funny business, I swear.”

After tugging them on, Daryl stewed for a few seconds. “You’re gay?” he asked Jesus.

“As a three dollar bill,” Jesus confirmed. “Surprised you didn’t know. But then again, maybe not.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You aren’t the most observant person. When it comes to people. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you could track a deer for twenty miles or whatever.”

Daryl huffed, looked away, looked back. Jesus’s hair, dark and wet, contrasted his face sharper than usual. His green eyes stuck out like a sprout at the tail-end of winter.

“How aren’t you infected?” Daryl asked.

“I don’t know. It’s part of the wolf. It can metabolize, like, small traces.” Jesus leaned back against the wall, frowned at his hands propped between his knees. “I figured it out by mistake, you know. Desperate measures.”

Daryl knew that was another story for another time. “Why do you say ‘the wolf?’ Like it isn’t you?” he inquired instead.

Jesus was silent for a long time, and Daryl nearly regretted asking the question.

“I was bit when I was fourteen,” Jesus said. “I was camping with my family. We all thought it was a crazy wolf attack, and then I just—shifted. I was home alone, and I broke down the backdoor to run outside. My parents thought I was psychotic, something about trauma. I got put on all these meds. On top of it all I was trying to deal with being gay. My dad eventually signed me up for Judo as a last ditch effort.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Things got better after that, and I learned other martial arts. But the wolf changed me... I always hated it.”

Daryl finished his cigarette and carefully stood, keeping his weight on his uninjured leg. He dropped beside Jesus and smashed the cigarette in the ashtray before speaking.

“Nobody thought the dead would come to life, but here we are. You didn’t think you’d become a fucking werewolf, but here you are, and you saved my ass.” He chewed on his lip for a minute. “My brother, Merle, hated me for it. The genes skipped him, I guess. He was mean since the day we knew I got it. I was always too soft for our daddy, too. I was never normal.” Daryl paused. “Just a faggy little shit.”

If Jesus was surprised at Daryl’s admission, he didn’t show it, listening intently.

“I didn’t want it, neither,” Daryl continued. “But since all of this... It’s helped. It really has. It’s saved the people I care about.” His mind flashed with images of the Claimers, Carl pinned to the ground, and Rick’s mouth dripping with blood. “They didn’t burn me at the stake for what I was.” He looked at Jesus. “When the world went to shit, we all had to change. But it don’t gotta be for worse. Maybe it’s for the better. And whatever we were before doesn’t matter.”

A lapse of silence ensued. Outside, it was dead quiet, and there were no chances of the doctor or nurse or Maggie barging in. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, drifting upward from Daryl’s cigarette butt sitting between their feet.

Jesus placed his hand on Daryl’s knee. “Thank you.”

Daryl stared at the point of contact, the weight of Jesus’s hand grounding him unlike anything else. He thought of Jesus pinning him to the ground in the forest, strong enough to keep him down, teeth digging into his flesh. Dominant, capable, knowledgeable, and at the same time so unaware and alone.

“You’re welcome,” Daryl said.

Jesus dropped his head to Daryl’s shoulder, his wet hair cold against Daryl’s neck.

They said nothing more, and waited for daybreak. 


End file.
